


It's The Thought That Counts

by sparxwrites



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Gift Giving, Hugs, M/M, Presents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:22:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2844419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Strife! Strife! Where are you, Strifeykins? Strife, open up!” The yelling start within half a second of the doorbell going, and Will takes the stairs two at a time to try and cut it off before it turns to screaming, grumbling under his breath the whole way. “I’m coming, Parvis! Coming!” he calls, but the yelling doesn’t stop until he finally makes it to the door, dragging open. “Yes? What?”</p>
<p>“Merry Christmas!” yells Parvis, switching effortlessly from complaining to congratulating without losing volume. He bounces forward delightedly, shoves a clumsily-wrapped present in green and red striped paper and tied with red ribbon into Strife’s chest, and beams. “And a happy new year!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's The Thought That Counts

**Author's Note:**

> my yogs secret santa gift for stardusts-corner!! merry christmas and a happy new year, friend, i hope you like the fic uwu

“Strife! _Strife_! Where are you, Strifeykins? Strife, open up!”

The yelling start within half a second of the doorbell going, and Will takes the stairs two at a time to try and cut it off before it turns to screaming, grumbling under his breath the whole way. “I’m coming, Parvis! Coming!” he calls, but the yelling doesn’t stop until he finally makes it to the door, dragging open. “Yes? What?”

“Merry Christmas!” yells Parvis, switching effortlessly from complaining to congratulating without losing volume. He bounces forward delightedly, shoves a clumsily-wrapped present in green and red striped paper and tied with red ribbon into Strife’s chest, and beams. “And a happy new year!”

“But- but-” Will stammers for words, looking down at the box in his hand. “Uh, merry Christmas to you too, Parvis.” After a quick scroll through his mental calendar – he’s hardly been keeping track, considering he doesn’t really celebrate Christmas – he comes back with the fact it’s the twenty-fourth, and modifies his answer. “Merry Christmas Eve, anyway.”

He clutches at the present still shoved against his chest, fingers grasping at the box of it seconds before Parvis lets go, barely stopping it from tumbling to the floor. “...I didn’t get you anything,” he says quietly, after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly with his free hand.

Parvis’ face falls for a second, and then lights back up almost instantly in a grin – there’s little that can keep him miserable a the best of times, let alone at Christmas. “Ah well!” he says, shrugging. “I’m sure you can make it up to me _somehow_.” He lets a teasing note slip into his tone, waggles his eyebrows, and tries not to laugh at the colour Will turns.

Flustered as always by Parvis’ casual flirting, Will tries to will away the flush from his cheeks. “Ah, I, um, ah-” He breaks off, closes his eyes for a second to draw in a slow breath through his nose. “I mean, _technically_ , I’ve been helping you for free all year, which should _really_ be more than enough to count as a present, but-”

He cuts himself off when he realises he’s just digging himself deeper into a hole, and sighs. “I’ll, um. Get you something. Might be a bit late.” Trying not to wonder what, exactly, he’s going to get – he’s always been terrible at choosing presents, and Parvis is the kind of person that doesn’t wait for Christmas if he wants something – he smiles at the way Parvis’ grin widens.

“Well?” says Parvis, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Open it!” He gestures impatiently at the present in Will’s hands, eyes bright with excitement.

“What?” Will blinks. “Shouldn’t I wait til Christmas day, I mean, it _is_ traditional…” He trails off when Parvis makes an impatient noise. “Fine, fine, okay! I’ll open it now.” Huffing and fussing, he turns the parcel over and over in his hands, trying to find the edge of the wrapping to start tearing it open.

Parvis seems to almost vibrate as Will tries to unwrap the present, wrestling first with the bow tied in an indestructible knot and then with the tape plastered over every possible seam on the wrapping paper. “I made it myself!” he blurts, twisting fingers together in front of his stomach, eyes locked on Will’s face. “Well, I mean, Xephos helped – not much, because I’m awesome and can do _anything_ , hardly needed any help at all – but I did _most_ of it myself!”

If Will didn’t know better, he’d say Parvis sounds almost nervous. That’s ridiculous. Parvis is _never_ nervous.

He finally manages to get blunt, bitten-down fingernails under the last bit of tape, pulling it off and finally freeing a cardboard box from the mess of paper and ribbon. Thankfully, the box hasn’t been taped up, and all he has to do is lift the lid off to reveal...

Nestled at the bottom of the box is a heap of something reddish and soft-looking. Frowning, Will sticks his hands into it, hopes nothing bites him – given this is Parvis, he wouldn’t be surprised if there was something terrifying and feral hidden under whatever the fabric is – and pulls out the bundle, shaking it out until he’s holding it up in front of him.

“Do you like it?” Parvis is outright bouncing now, eyes wide and expectant. “Do you? I made it myself, you know, because I’m awesome. I mean, I’m sure you like it, because it’s great, but…”

"It's…” Will stares at the jumper – at the uneven neckline and different-sized sleeves and the loops all over where Parvis has dropped stitches. It’s kind of hideous, from an objective point of view – but it’s the deep crimson of all his shirts, a colour he loves, and the lopsided black _S_ on the front is oddly touching.

Will sighs, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite himself. “It’s lovely, Parvis,” he says gruffly, not quite managing to meet Parvis’ eyes. “Thank you.” He pulls it over his head as an excuse to not say anything more, never all that good with words outside of a sales pitch.

It was made for someone taller and less broad-shouldered than him – he suspects Parvis used Xephos as a model – but it still fits, snug around his shoulders and hanging down to his knees and surprisingly warm. The wool’s soft beneath his fingers where the sleeves hand down past his knuckles, and he can’t resist brushing his fingertips over it.

“Yay!” Parvis launches himself across the gap between them, hurling himself into Will’s arms and pressing his face into the juncture where neck meets shoulder. The wool of the jumper tickles his nose a little, but he ignores it in favour of wrapping arms around Will and squeezing until he hears Will starting to wheeze. “I knew you’d love it! I’m a genius!”

For a moment, Parvis thinks Will’s going to argue. But then he feels arms hesitantly wrapping themselves around his shoulders, pulling him into a tentative hug. “...Yes, Parvis,” says Will, and despite the heavy sigh Parvis can _hear_ the affection in his voice, feel Will’s smile against the side of his head, and it’s enough to make him grin. “Yes you are.”


End file.
